My skin tingles at the ever growing dread,
Dread,
Dread.

All hope is gone, there is nothing left not a single thread,
Thread,
Thread.

As I lay and watch the days go by, all alone in my bed,
Bed,
Bed.

I remember I was once told: do not bite the hand in which you are fed,
Fed,
Fed.

But I did not listen to a single word they said,
Said,
Said.

I went off and did my own thing instead,
Stead,
Stead.

Pretty soon my heart turned into a thing of lead,
Lead,
Lead.

So I sat by myself, just sat down and read,
Read,
Read.

I saw that many people wed,
Wed,
Wed.

But those I was around were already dead,
Dead,
Dead.

Now I cannot stop the tiny voices that echo in my head.
My head,
My hea—